


Root [plant me where you want to be]

by seekingsquake



Series: a mess, it grows [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-Canon, References to Hanahaki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 17:57:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11742204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekingsquake/pseuds/seekingsquake
Summary: When they were in Switzerland together, they’d been physically very close quite often just due to how sick Chris had been. It had been greatly platonic, considering the nature of the situation, but they cuddled often, and Chris knows that he had kissed Phichit’s head and brow and eyelids on multiple occasions. They’ve spent the last year flirting over Instagram and Snapchat, sending texts with lots of winks and kisses and hearts. Chris had wondered what the dynamic between them would be like when they were reunited, and was prepared for almost anything, but.He’s finding himself surprised by just how comfortable Phichit is with casual touch.





	Root [plant me where you want to be]

**Author's Note:**

> I've never been to Bangkok before, so I'm sorry if I got it wrong. I'm not great at researching, but I did my best! I'm also ignoring things like travel visas because I'll admit it: I didn't want to look it up, and I don't care about it that much. 
> 
> I don't think you have to read Bloom for this to make sense, but it would give you a little bit of context for why this is playing out where it is, the way that it is. 
> 
> I don't have a beta, so mind any typos and whatnot.

Waiting for Chris at Suvarnabhumi Airport is reminiscent of waiting for Chris at the Zurich airport in the way that all airports sort of blend together after you've been through enough of them. Except that this time, Phichit doesn't have to worry about flowers or sickness or anything. This time, Phichit can just be happy that he's going to be able to spend time with his friend. And he's  _ so _ happy.

He hadn't expected Chris to follow through on the murmured  _ I promise _ he had given Phichit when Phichit had left Switzerland, and so when Chris had texted him inquiring about the best time of year to travel, he had maybe screamed a little bit. Chatchada had peered at him from the other side of the main room, and Kasem had looked up from his laptop in surprise.

"Chris is coming here!" he had told his siblings, nearly buzzing with excitement.

Kasem and Chatchada had glanced at each other before responding to their youngest brother. 

"You want him to stay in our home?" Kasem asked. "Where will he sleep?"

"In my room! It's big enough for both of us," Phichit insisted, but pouted when his brother frowned at him.

"You were in Europe for six months," Kasem pressed. "You will not have your guest sleep on the floor in our home for that length of time, will you?"

"Mama won't like having him here," Chatchada chimed in, and though her voice is firm her face is still soft with kindness. "You know how she is."

Phichit had pushed though, and somehow managed to convince his family that it would be great fun to have Chris stay with them, or at least much less of a hassle than they were predicting, and now Phichit is waiting for Chris at the airport. They haven't seen each other for almost a year now, but they send text messages back and forth nearly every day. Chris has been restless in his retirement, and an extended vacation with a good friend had seemed like salvation. 

When Chris appears, he's got a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, and he's pulling a large rolling suitcase behind him. His jeans fit him snuggly in the thighs but are looser around the calves; the cuffs rolled up over the top of a pair of combat boots. He's wearing some soft looking sweater with a loose collar and a boxy torso, and his glasses are slipping down his nose. His trench coat is draped over his arm, and he looks so soft and warm that Phichit wants to scream. So he nearly does. "Chris!" He waves ecstatically, and Chris beams at him.

When they hug, it's some sort of disaster. Chris is tall, and Phichit's face gets smooshed into his chest; the sweater is scratchy against his cheek. They squeeze each other too tight, and there's the press of people all around them. They have no space, and it's too hot, and it feels so... big. "I'm happy you're here," Phichit says, his voice lost to Chris's sweater, and Chris chuckles.

"I'm happy to be here."

Finally, they let each other go, and Phichit takes the duffle bag from Chris. He tugs Chris through the airport by the hand and hails them a taxi. "Have you been to Bangkok before?"

"Never," Chris admits as he gets his things situated in the trunk of the cab. He opens the back door and ushers Phichit into the car, then slides in beside him. "I'm excited. Pansy was sad to be left behind, but Simon is always happy to have her while I'm gone."

"We can FaceTime her later!"

They chat the whole drive from the airport to Phichit's home, and Phichit haggles firmly with the cabbie when they arrive. He says to Chris, "Always check the meter! They're supposed to turn them on but a lot of times they won't."

The house is a small two storey home with a tiny deck hanging out over the front door. The curtains in all the windows are a whispy white material, and the house's facade is a cracked white plaster, grey with age and weather. There is a short, circular fountain in the small front yard, but there is no water in it. A rickety wire gate separates the yard from the street, and Phichit bumps it open with his hip as he hefts Chris's duffle bag across his shoulder. 

Phichit's home is nothing at all like Chris's tiny apartment, but he falls in love instantly when he hears the door of the deck slide open, and a woman's voice shouting into the house. 

Phichit smiles at Chris over his shoulder, says, "Welcome home!" and slips off his shoes before stepping inside. Chris follows suit, removing his shoes at the door, and when he finally gets both himself and his rolling suitcase inside, three people are hovering on the stairs, watching him.

Phichit says in English, "This is Chris!" and then follows that up with something in Thai, directed at who Chris can only assume is Phichit's mother. 

Chris feels like a giant. Both women are slight in stature, with soft, round noses and almost delicate jawlines. Phichit’s mother is greying at the temples, and her short hair curls around her ears. Her eyes are sharp with an almost suspicious sort of watchfulness, and she looks at Chris without making eye contact. The younger woman smiles at both he and Phichit, and it’s kind and indulgent. The man is a little taller than both ladies and Phichit but is still probably only about five foot six. They are all slender like Phichit, and Chris towers above them all and could possibly bench press them as individuals, not because he’s exceptionally strong but because they all look like they weigh next to nothing.

“This is my sister, Chatchada,” Phichit chirps, indicating the younger woman, “and my brother, Kasem, and my mom!” Chatchada and Kasem both nod to him, but Phichit’s mother doesn’t react at all. Then Phichit says, “Let’s put your things in my room and then I’ll show you around!”

Chatchada murmurs something to her mother, and then everyone is moving up the stairs, Chris and Phichit trailing behind the others. There’s a bedroom at the very top of the stairs that Phichit drags Chris into, and Phichit drops Chris’s duffle onto the bed. It’s a relatively spacious size, but it’s crammed full with a double bed, large entertainment unit housing a small TV and stereo, and a tall, multi level hamster cage. There’s an air mattress blown up in the middle of the floor, leaving next to no floor space. Phichit drags Chris’s rolling suitcase around the mattress and hastily shoves it into the open and nearly overflowing closet. 

“I hope it’s okay,” Phichit says, and he laughs a little uneasily. “You can sleep on the bed if you want, or we could trade once in awhile. We’ll put your toiletries in the bathroom downstairs with mine! I was going to make some room in the closet for your things.” They both pause to look at the closet. There are various backpacks, and fanny packs and jackets spilling out, as well as a pile of shoes pushed into the corner and garments double hung and draped over hangers and each other haphazardly. Phichit rubs at the back of his neck and shifts on the balls of his feet. “I didn’t quite get there yet.”

Chris laughs. Phichit had been very tidy when he was staying in Switzerland, but he hadn’t brought very much with him. This room feels much more in line with Phichit’s personality. “Are you using a tripod to hang coats on?”

“Haha ha ha,” Phichit murmurs before shoving the suitcase further into the closet and yanking the door shut. “Come on, let me show you the rest of the house.”

Outside of Phichit’s bedroom door, just beyond the landing of the stairs, there’s an open space that’s been set up as a living and dining room combo. Beyond the dining room is a kitchen with a back porch and stairs leading down to the garage and back alley. A wall divides the kitchen from a hallway that houses a large bathroom, the master bedroom where Kasem sleeps, and another, smaller bedroom that belongs to their mother. Downstairs there’s another living room space, and then Chatchada’s bedroom, a home office, and a bathroom tucked in a hall that leads to a second kitchen and the garage. Phichit pulls Chris down onto the couch on the ground floor and turns on the TV. “Are you really jetlagged?”

“Yeah,” Chris admits as he lets himself sink into the couch. “But if I take a nap I should be a little more lively in time for dinner.”

“Of course! Sleep as long as you need to! Do you want to go upstairs to bed?”

It’s the middle of the day, but the curtains have been drawn, and behind the thin white fabric that Chris had noticed from outside there are heavier curtains, leaving the room somewhat dark. The couch is comfortable enough, and now that he’s sitting he doesn’t feel like climbing the stairs again. “This is good,” he responds quietly, listing to the side enough that he’s lying across the couch with his head pillowed on the armrest and his legs up in Phichit’s lap. 

Phichit hums softly, then turns the volume on the TV down a couple of notches.

❀❀❀

Dinner is a quiet affair. Kasem goes out to meet with his girlfriend, and Chatchada takes a small bowl of soup to her bedroom. Phichit and Chris sit at the dining table upstairs with Phichit’s mother. “We’re not that strict about tradition,” Phichit’s saying as he slurps at his soup. “Kasem and Chatchada both went to university abroad, too, so I think we all came back kinda Westernized, you know?” 

Phichit’s mother says something, and then Phichit pauses his eating and looks at Chris critically. “Is it too spicy?”

The soup is somewhat spicy on Chris’s palette, but it’s not at all unpleasant. “I like it,” he says instead of answering the question and swallows a spoonful to prove his point. His avoidance is noticed though, and Phichit laughs. He gets up and darts into the kitchen.

“Do you want some milk? Or we’ve got water. Or... I have this sports drink. It’s got my face on it, look!” He comes back to the table with a plastic bottle in his hand, his photo splashed across the label. He grins. “It’s neat, right?”

Chris hasn’t ever had his face on a sports drink, that’s for sure. “That’s really great! You have a lot of sponsorships?”

Before Phichit can answer, Mrs Chulanont leans across the table and grabs a newspaper from under Chris’s elbow. She flips it open to what is potentially the sports section, and there’s Phichit again, standing in front of what looks like an ice rink or sports centre. Chris doesn’t get a lot of time to look at it before Phichit snatches it away, laughing. “I do okay,” he says before moving back into the kitchen, the paper under his arm. When he comes back to the table again, he’s got a glass of milk that he slides to Chris, and the paper is gone.

They finish supper in relative quiet, Chris and Phichit teasing each other with sly grins and quirked eyebrows and nudges of feet and knees under the table. Mrs Chulanont watches them carefully from over the rim of her bowl.

❀❀❀

When they were in Switzerland together, they’d been physically very close quite often just due to how sick Chris had been. It had been greatly platonic, considering the nature of the situation, but they cuddled often, and Chris knows that he had kissed Phichit’s head and brow and eyelids on multiple occasions. They’ve spent the last year flirting over Instagram and Snapchat, sending texts with lots of winks and kisses and hearts. Chris had wondered what the dynamic between them would be like when they were reunited, and was prepared for almost anything, but. 

He’s finding himself surprised by just how comfortable Phichit is with casual touch. 

Phichit has hooked his laptop up to his TV, and they’re watching a movie. Chris had figured he’d settle himself on the air mattress and maybe doze off a little, but Phichit had dragged him up onto the bed and proceeded to use him as a pillow. Which is fine, good. Great even, if he's honest, but a little surprising nonetheless. “Honestly? I don’t care that he’s old. Matt Bomer is so hot.”

Chris wraps an arm around Phichit’s shoulder and laughs. “He’s not old though.”

“He’s married and has two kids. He’s old. Like, forty or something. He could be like my dad or whatever.” Phichit sighs and presses the side of his face a little more into Chris’s chest. 

Chris kind of wants to ask about Phichit’s dad since his presence in the house thus far has been non-existent, but some topics are hard to broach, so he doesn’t ask anything at all. He just shifts himself a little and then adjusts the way Phichit is laying against him. Phichit is so slight that it’s so easy just to move him, and Phichit doesn’t seem to mind being moved. “Comfy?”

Phichit hums softly. “Yeah. Sleepy. You?”

“A bit, yeah.”

The movie is nothing but background noise. Chris doesn’t know what’s happening beyond the clean scent of Phichit’s hair and the heavy feeling of sleep in his limbs. It’d be better to stay up a bit longer, to at least attempt to start setting a normal sleep schedule despite the jet lag, but if Phichit’s ready to turn in early...

There’s an abrupt knock on the bedroom door before it swings open, and Phichit jerks into a sitting position, his eyes wide as Chatchada stands in the doorway. She eyes them with her lips drawn into a firm line, her gaze catching on Chris’s rumpled shirt and Phichit’s ramrod posture. “Kasem wants to know if you need a ride to the rink in the morning.”

“Um.” Phichit runs his fingers through his hair and slumps a little, thinking. “I don’t know what the plan is for tomorrow yet. I thought we’d do some touristy stuff, maybe?” He shoots Chris a glance before turning back to his sister. “I might not go to the rink until later if I go at all.”

It looks like that was maybe the wrong thing for a Phichit to say. Chatchada quirks an eyebrow and frowns a little before saying, “Okay, well. Let him know when you wake up. He won't drive you in the evening.”

Chris doesn't have any siblings, so he doesn't know what it's like to have the type of interaction that Phichit is having with Chatchada, but they are having an interaction of sorts, even though they've both stopped speaking. They stare at each other for a few long moments before Phichit eventually says, “‘Kay,” and Chatchada nods before leaving the room.

She leaves the door wide open.

❀❀❀

When the alarm blares, Chris groans and pulls the pillow over his head. He rolls over, and the bed dips under him, too soft. He’ll have to pump more air into it tonight. Phichit rustles around, skirting around the air mattress and evidently tripping. He falls into his open closet, and Chris peers at him through an eye barely cracked open. 

“Sorry,” Phichit murmurs, but whether he’s talking to Chris or to the jacket that fell on top of him is unknown.

Chris doesn’t know what time it is, but. “It’s too early.”

Phichit snorts softly, and then the bed dips again, and the pillow is being pulled away from Chris’s face. “C’mon Sleepy, I thought you wanted to see all the temples. If we’re ready within the hour, Kasem will drop us off at the train.”

“You’re not going to the rink?”

“Maybe tonight. Unless you want to sleep more?” Chris yawns, but as much as he loves his sleep, he  _ has  _ been looking forward to touring the temples. He rubs his face, and Phichit scratches at the short hair of Chris’s undercut. “You can shower if you want?”

Chris nods and makes his way downstairs, leaving Phichit alone. The bathroom is long and narrow, with a mirror that runs the length of the wall and a linoleum floor that’s starting to curl up at the edges a little. He showers and runs through his morning routine before heading back upstairs, and when he makes it back to the bedroom Phichit is trying to decide on a jacket to wear, but he’s got a hamster hanging out on his head. “Is that standard rodent care?”

Phichit grins. “Shut up; he likes it.” He selects an outfit carefully and pops the hamster back in the cage before dressing. “We should call Pansy later. I’m sure she misses you.”

Chris roots around in his suitcase for the jeans that he wants as he replies, “She’s fine, she’s always liked Simon more than me anyway. But if  _ you  _ miss  _ her  _ then I’m not opposed to setting up a video chat.”

When they’re ready, they head down the stairs and out to the garage. Kasem is already waiting in the car. “To the train?” he asks as Chris slips into the back seat and Phichit gets in the front.

“Yeah,” Phichit nods.

“What are you going to be doing today?”

Chris wants to see all the temples, the floating markets, the shopping centres. He wants to do all the touristy things that he's read about online, and he wants to go to where all the locals like to hang out. He wants to do and see everything, and he had indicated over text a few days ago that wants to do it all right away, and Phichit is torn between indulging him and trying to spread everything out. Chris bought a one-way ticket; he has no return date back to Switzerland. They have all the time in the world. “We’re gonna roam around Rattanakosin today I think, tour a couple of the temples, have lunch and such. Maybe do some shopping.”

“Oh, you should go to the Flower Market; tourists love that!”

Phichit shifts in his seat and turns to gaze out the window. “I don’t know if--”

“Flower Market?” Chris asks from the back. 

Phichit closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

Chris just hums softly.

❀❀❀  
  


Once it gets dark, after they’ve gone through two different temples and wound their way through the Saphan Phut market, Chris says, “So, about the Flower Market.”

“You want to go?” Phichit doesn’t really want to. Anything with yellow petals has given him a lump in his throat ever since that first time he caught Chris coughing in the bathroom, and the smell of lavender makes his skin itch with discomfort. He hadn’t figured Chris would even want to go, considering... 

But. 

“It’d be a good place to take pictures, yes?”

He can’t argue that. “Yeah.”

They’ve been walking side by side, close enough that their hands have been brushing. Chris drops his arm around Phichit’s shoulder and tucks him close to his side. “Then I want to go.” Phichit looks up at him, his lips pursed, but nods anyway.

❀❀❀

Even after everything, Chris still handles all the flowers like they’re precious, beautiful. He plucks a lily from a bundle and sniffs it carefully, then tucks it behind Phichit’s ear and snaps a photo with his phone. The lady at that stall gives it to them for free. She says something that makes Phichit flush and laugh, embarrassed, before tugging Chris along. 

“I want to find a flower crown,” Chris insists. “Do you think we can?”

Phichit doesn’t want flowers anywhere near Chris’s head. But he wants to make Chris happy. He says, “We can try.”

When they find one, it’s composed of mostly vines with tiny white blooms woven in. It’s more like a wreath than a crown, and when Chris tries to wear it, it slips down and around his neck, sitting delicately on the skin of his collar bone. Chris tries to check himself out in the window of a car parked nearby but can’t. “Take a picture,” he tells Phichit before striking a pose and making a face. So Phichit does, but he doesn’t look at it, and he doesn’t look at Chris, and he fights back the sick feeling in his stomach.

❀❀❀

"Why didn't you go back to competitive skating?" Phichit is editing a bunch of photos he took from when they had toured through the flower market last night when he asks, but Chris can tell that he's also watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"People would have asked too many questions," Chris eventually responds. "I didn't want to tell everyone that I was sick, and I didn't want to come up with any bullshit excuse. Plus, I'm old enough now that retiring made sense, so going back felt... I don't know. I had come to terms with the fact I wasn't going to skate again. Trying to get back into the competition circuit seemed redundant to me, after." He studies Phichit for a moment, and then asks, "Why didn't you?"

Phichit looks up, startled. "What?"

"You lost half a season to stay with me, and then you didn't go back. Why?"

Phichit puts his phone down and then crawls across the couch so that he's sitting right beside Chris, their thighs pressed together. He looks up into Chris's face as if trying to find the answer, then shrugs. "I was kinda scared that I wouldn't be able to find my momentum again, and then I came home, and it hit me how much I missed being here. I'm not finished skating, but. I don't know. I think I want to try to stay in Thailand for a while. Maybe I could--" Phichit cuts himself off and looks away as if embarrassed. 

"Maybe you could what?"

"Promise not to laugh?"

Chris can't recall a time that he's ever laughed at Phichit. Over the months that they've resided together, he's laughed  _ with _ Phichit a lot, and he's laughed at many of Phichit's jokes and cute antics, but he doesn't think he's ever laughed at Phichit to be mean. "I promise."

Phichit eyes Chris for a moment then sighs. He says, "So, right now I'm the most prominent figure skater in Thai history so far, did you know that?"

Chris had known that sort of distantly; it was hard to miss the media at every competition fawning over Phichit, saying things like, "first Thai skater to use this song in competition, first Thai skater to dominate World's, highest GPF score of any Thai skater," and so on. It was hard to miss the influx of Thai media at any competition that Phichit was attending, even if he wasn't actively competing. It had never been stated so plainly though, and Phichit was genuinely making history for Thai figure skating. "I had some idea, yes."

"Okay. Well. I started skating because of The King and the Skater, right? It's a classic piece of Thai inspired English media, and it reached such a broad audience, and. I don't know. It's been almost twenty years since figure skating or anything super _Thai_ was that mainstream worldwide, you know? And since I've made a name for myself with skating, and put my country back on the map, I just thought that maybe... Maybe I could do something like that, too."

A beat passes between them, and Chris is surprised. "You want to make a figure skating movie?"

Phichit laughs, then rubs his palms against his thighs as if he's nervous. "No. I want... I want to create an ice show. I want it to be filled with Thai culture and everything that I love about my country, and the first few years I'd have to import big-name skaters internationally to get worldwide attention, but eventually, I'd hope to pare it down to a mostly Thai cast, you know? So that anyone from here could see the show, and recognise themselves, and be inspired. 

"So, I haven't tried to get back into the competitive circuit because I've been thinking, like, maybe now's the time? I was sort of hoping I could win a Grand Prix before I started this, but. Realistically, I don't know if I'll ever manage to beat Yuri Plisetsky, and he's younger than me so unless he gets injured I'll most likely retire first anyway. Maybe this is the best way for me to leave my mark on the skating world."

He looks up at Chris, and his face is open, vulnerable. He's so small, so young, and Chris wants to wrap him up and give him the whole world. "It sounds silly, doesn't it?" he asks, and he's smiling even though he's clearly uncertain.

"It doesn't sound silly at all," Chris murmurs, his hand reaching out to clutch at Phichit's closest knee. "It sounds fantastic."

"You think so?"

"Yes," Chris insists quietly. "Will there be room for me in the debut, I wonder?"

Phichit beams. "Of course! Right beside me."

That... That sounds really good.

❀❀❀

“Do you want to go out tonight?”

“Out where?” Chris asks. He’s lounging on his back on the air mattress, scrolling Instagram and texting Simon. They’ve spent the day in the house, dozing off and watching movies.

Phichit is on the bed, and he shifts so that his head is hanging off the side and he’s looking at Chris upside down. “Like, clubbing. Dancing, getting drunk. We could go after dinner. There’re a couple good places in Silom that would be fun.” He kicks his legs up and rests his feet against the wall, and Chris smiles at him. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Phichit nods, then grins, cheeky. “You like the idea of cute boys dancing in giant bird cages right?”

Chris jolts up and scrambles towards his suitcase. “Boys in birdcages? Yes. Yes, we’re going dancing. What should I wear? What are you wearing?”

Phichit laughs and rolls so that he’s on his stomach, his chin resting on the backs of his hands as he watches Chris rummage through his clothes. “Oh, I dunno. I was thinking something, like, meshy, maybe?”

There’s a pause, and then Chris slowly turns his head to look at Phichit. He licks his lips and Phichit can’t help but watch his mouth, and his eyes look blown out. Phichit blinks, and his heart flutters, and he can’t help but think  _ he wants me.  _ He’d be lying if he said that he’s confused by what’s been happening between them, or by his own feelings. They have chemistry, and there’s mutual interest, and Phichit is pretty sure that they’ve been standing on the cusp of  _ more  _ for a while now. And it feels a little bit dangerous because there’s so much that they haven’t talked about, so much about each other that they don’t know, and... What would a relationship between them even look like? Would they do long distance? Would one of them move? But. Phichit’s never been scared of a little danger. He’s been biding his time, waiting for Chris to make all the moves because the past year or so has been hard on him, but. With the way he’s looking right now, hungry and restrained, maybe it’s time Phichit pushed a little. Maybe it’s time he made his intentions a little more clear.

“Mesh would look good on you,” Chris manages to say, his voice low and rough.

“Oh,” Phichit sighs, still grinning, staring straight into Chris’s eyes. “It does.”

Before anything else can be said, there’s a soft rap on the door and Kasem pops his head inside. “Supper’s ready, are you eating?”

“We’re eating,” Phichit agrees, never taking his eyes off Chris, and Kasem sighs before ducking back out of the room, muttering in Thai to himself.

Dinner is... odd. There’s a tight, fragile tension between Chris and Phichit as they sit at the table and eat, eyes dark and hot on each other. Mrs Chulanont never lifts her eyes from her bowl except to dish out more food to Kasem, and Chatchada shifts uncomfortably as she tries to make conversation with her mother. Kasem stares hard at Phichit and eats with a tight jaw. Chatchada and Mrs Chulanont get up from the table as soon as they’re finished, and then Phichit sends Chris off to take a shower and get ready to go out. He’s about to raise himself and take his dishes to the kitchen when Kasem stops him. “Phichit.”

“What’s up?”

Kasem tips his head towards his little brother and closes his eyes in thought before sighing. “Look. I know that you’re not a kid anymore, but you need to watch yourself, okay?”

Phichit snorts. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t play dumb. Chris? You’re playing with things that you don’t understand. I’m asking you to be careful. That’s all.”

“Things  _ I  _ don’t understand? Kasem, you don’t even know him, you can’t just--”

“He’s too old for you,” Kasem insists, “and he’s  _ white.  _ You’re not just some little Asian twink he can dick around with and take pics of before going back to wherever he came from to tell all his friends about his  _ vacation  _ in Bangkok.”

Phichit grabs Kasem’s hand and squeezes hard. He feels a little indignant on Chris’s behalf, but mostly just very fond. “Hey. Chris is my friend, okay? He’s not just some tourist I met on the street, you know? I promise he isn’t like that. He likes me because he knows me. And also? Five years older than me isn’t too old.” Phichit leans into Kasem’s space, drops his head onto his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t worry so much, okay? I know what I’m doing.”

“You trust him?”

Kasem sighs again when Phichit nods. “I do. And I’m not asking you to trust him, but I’m asking you to trust me. I’ve got it, okay?”

“Whatever you say, little brother,” Kasem concedes. “Where are you going tonight?”

Phichit pauses before almost guiltily admitting, “DJ Station.”

Kasem groans. “Who taught you how to be so much trouble, hmm? Where did you get this from?”

They both laugh as Phichit punches him in the shoulder and finally gets up to take his dishes to the sink. 

❀❀❀

Phichit ends up wearing a black mesh, long sleeved top underneath a yellow crop top with a wide, cut out collar, black silk shorts, and a pair of those sneakers with the built up, hidden heels. He applies a liquid eyeliner with practised ease, a touch of shimmery eyeshadow, and lip gloss that is no colour and all shine.

Chris pours himself into the tightest jeans he has and a tank top with a low neckline and deep arm holes, meaning most of his torso is visible.

They salivate over each other, but neither of them says anything. 

They take a taxi to the club, and once their IDs have been checked and they get inside, Phichit hooks his fingers into Chris’s belt loops and tugs him to the middle of the dancefloor. The place is absolutely packed, and the lack of space gives them the excuse of dancing right up on each other, pressed so tightly together that their breath mingles and Phichit can feel Chris’s pulse where he’s got his hand pressed against Chris’s neck. 

Chris moves so smoothly, his skin creamy and pale under the flashing of the strobe lights, and people all around them are drooling over him. Phichit slips a hand into his back pocket and tugs him even closer, shoots a sharp grin over his shoulder that sends an approaching man disappearing back into the crowd and laughs into Chris’s ear. Chris murmurs, “We need drinks,” and pushes Phichit toward the bar. They never take their hands off each other, not even when Chris orders four shots and they toss them back, fast and easy.

❀❀❀

They’ve been dancing for hours when Phichit takes him by the hand and drags him towards the entrance, his other arm thrown over his head and his hips rolling in time with the music even as he weaves them across the dance floor. He's laughing by the time they get outside. "Chris," he chirps as he yanks on Chris's arm. Chris jerks forward, and then they're stumbling together in some sort of spin, and when they come to a stop Phichit's back is pressed up against the wall of the building, Chris's body is nearly flush against him, and their fingers are still tangled together.

Phichit has glitter in his eyelashes and dusting over the swell of his cheeks. His hair is mussed, and his lips are glossy. The eyeliner that had been impressively sharp at the beginning of the night is a little smudgy now, and Chris uses the thumb of his free hand to wipe at it. The warm, dark tan of Phichit's skin glows nearly orange under the neon light from the club's sign, and he's had enough to drink that he thinks maybe Phichit is pulling him closer, but he might just be listing in on his own. 

Chris's hand trails down the side of Phichit's face until he's cupping Phichit's jaw. Phichit's eyelashes flutter, and then he looks up at Chris with his wide, brown eyes, and Chris feels a drop in his stomach so violent he wonders if he's physically falling. Phichit pulls him even closer by the hem of his tank top. "You're looking at me like there's something you want," Phichit murmurs, and he licks his lips.

"It might be the alcohol," Chris admits, staring Phichit in the face because Phichit is so young, and has been such a good friend, and deserves nothing but honesty. "But I really want to kiss you." He's not honest, though, because he knows it's not the alcohol. All that drinking has done is make him less concerned about the consequences.

"It might just be the alcohol," Phichit parrots back, breathless. "But I want you to."

Phichit gives Chris the invitation but doesn't wait for him to accept. He just slings an arm around Chris's neck to pull him down while moving up onto his tiptoes, and he's pressing his mouth to Chris's. It's not a fantastic kiss. It's not ground-breaking or time stopping or cinematic. It's just Phichit's lips pressed against his, and a tiny slip of the tongue and the slight taste of vodka under the cloying sweetness of the bubble gum Phichit had accidentally swallowed. But Chris's heart is thundering in his chest, and his palms are sweaty in a way they haven't been in years.

Phichit is already laughing by the time he lets himself back down onto the balls of his feet. His arm stays draped over Chris's shoulders. "I've heard all these stories about you being a playboy," he says slyly, "but you're looking like you've never been kissed before."

Chris chuckles then ducks his head to hide his face in the crook of Phichit's neck. "You aren't as innocent as you seem, are you, Darling?"

"I went to an American college," Phichit confides as if that explains everything. Then he's leaning even more against the wall and dragging Chris down into another kiss. Chris braces one arm above Phichit's head and slips his other hand around Phichit's waist. This kiss is more open, a little dirtier, and Chris wants to do  _ everything _ to Phichit but refuses to do anything more than this on the street. 

It's a little selfish, but he doesn't want anyone else to even glimpse Phichit like this. "Are you drunk?"

"I'm not totally sober," Phichit admits, his face close enough to Chris's that their lips still brush when he speaks. "But I'm sober enough to know what I'm asking for."

Chris can feel his blood thrumming. "What are you asking for?"

"Let me take you home. Let me get under these." His hands skim over the waistband of Chris's jeans, then slip around his back and down over his ass. He doesn't squeeze, not quite, but he lingers there.

Chris swallows. "Okay," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of Phichit's neck. 

They take a taxi home, and they stumble into the house without turning the lights on, tripping over shoes and each other. They kiss the whole way through the living room and up the stairs, and Phichit stifles his laughter against Chris's shoulders. "Shh," he murmurs, even though he's the one making the most noise. "My family's sleeping."

Chris isn’t worried about Chatchada since her bedroom is downstairs, but if he wakes either Kasem or their mother, he very well might have to jump out the window. He very carefully doesn't let Phichit's bedroom door slam shut, and he skirts around the air mattress with caution, his hands cradled around Phichit's hips. When he throws Phichit down on the bed, he makes sure he's attached to Phichit's mouth, to swallow any of the sounds he might make.

Phichit rubs his whole body against Chris. "You're so big," he whispers, and maybe he's referring to the bulge in Chris's jeans, but mostly it seems like he's referring to Chris as a whole. His hands are splayed over Chris's shoulders, and laying down like this the height difference between them is very apparent. Phichit doesn't fit the model of the type of guy Chris usually goes for. Chris generally likes his men tall and sturdy, and he's been drawn to fair hair and skin often enough that his mother says that's his 'type'. Phichit is small in stature, his limbs are willowy, and he's dark,  _ warm. _ He's the opposite of every man Chris has been with in the past.

Phichit slides his hands up under Chris's tank top, then pulls the shirt over Chris's head and kisses his left pec enthusiastically. "I wanna get my mouth all over you."

"Greedy," Chris murmurs, shuddering.

"You love it."

"I definitely do."

And then Phichit is squirming out from underneath him and pushing Chris down onto his back on the bed. He straddles Chris's hips, then makes a show of peeling off his crop top and tossing it over his shoulder. He rolls his hips, grinding down against Chris's pelvis, and Chris can't help but reach for him. Phichit grins, pleased, and then bends at the waist and stretches up to kiss the underside of Chris's jaw, down his neck, over his clavicle. His mouth makes a steady path down Chris's torso, and Chris has been in this position many times with many different people, but right now each sensation feels new. He shivers with anticipation as Phichit nips at the sharp cut of his hipbones and pulls his pants down his thighs. They're as skin tight as denim can be so Phichit fights them a little, and they both laugh and smile at each other. 

That seems to be it for the foreplay because then Phichit's mouth is on Chris's dick like he's hungry for it. Chris almost shouts but manages to bite it back. Phichit takes the length of it down his throat like it's easy; he's got one hand fondling Chris's balls and a couple of fingers of the other just teasing at Chris's rim. Chris can't tell if it's just because it's been awhile since he's had this or if it's because Phichit is just that good, but he's already close to coming. "Phichit, shit."

Phichit moans around him, and that's it, that's all it takes before he's coming and gasping, his back arching off the bed with the force of it.

Phichit swallows and laughs again, and then crawls up over Chris's body until they can kiss again. He grinds against Chris's abs, and when Chris slips fingers under the waistband of his shorts and takes him in hand, he exhales forcefully-- almost a moan but not entirely.

"Shh," Chris soothes as Phichit bites his lip and rolls his hips. "I've got you. Whenever you're ready."

Phichit's eyes are squeezed shut and it his head is tossed back, extending the line of his neck. Chris wants to lean up and bite down there, but also doesn't want to obscure his view, and so he just lays back and watches Phichit thrust into his fist. "You look gorgeous like this." He yanks Phichit's shorts down his thighs, followed by his briefs, just enough to free everything up, to give them more room to work and so Chris can see.

Phichit's jaw drops open as he comes, and Chris can feel his thighs trembling, and then Phichit is collapsed on top of him. His ejaculate is sticky between them, but Phichit doesn't seem to care. "You're fun," he mumbles, his head tucked under Chris's chin, his words running together. "I like you."

Chris's body is relaxed and satisfied, but suddenly his emotions are running wild. His voice is caught in his chest, and he feels the rustle of phantom flower petals in his throat. There's so much he wants to say, so many things he wants to ask, but it's late, and they're both tipsy and loose with orgasm. Now isn't the right time for any words he might come up with, so he just drops a kiss to the top of Phichit's head.

❀❀❀

“Hoooooo fuck I did a bad thing,” Phichit’s moan draws Chris out of sleep, and he blinks a few times before shifting to look at Phichit in the early morning light. Phichit has rolled onto his back, and he’s got the heels of his palms pressed into his eyes. He’s still in his mesh shirt, and when Chris glances at his own chest, he’s got little squares indented into his skin. There’s come, itchy and flaky across his abdomen, and his tongue feels tacky and dried out, but he’s pretty sure he’s just a little dehydrated and not totally hungover.

Poor Phichit doesn’t seem to be as lucky. “I didn’t even drink that much,” he whines. 

Chris puts his hand carefully on Phichit’s stomach and rubs slowly. “It’s the gin.” Phichit curls up against him but then tugs at the collar of his shirt before squirming and sitting up. He goes to pull his shirt off but pauses, his skin visibly paling. “Gonna be sick?”

“Not if I die first,” Phichit mutters. He slowly peels the mesh up and off his body, and then leans back and flops down over Chris. “I’m hungry, but if I eat, I’ll vomit.” He muffles his own voice in Chris’s shoulder. “We can't let Kasem see me like this.”

Chris laughs but tries not to jostle Phichit too much. “Do you want me to get you some water?”

“Would you?”

“Of course.”

“‘Kay,” Phichit mumbles, letting Chris manoeuvre out from under him. “Put on some clothes though. Kasem can't see you like that, either.”

Chris roots around for a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and then he quietly makes his way to the kitchen. It's still pretty early, only about five or so, and he makes it back to the bedroom without running into anyone. Phichit has buried himself under the blankets, but he pokes his head out at the sound of the door. “You're a good man, Christophe Giacometti,” he croaks, and Chris smiles fondly at him as he sits on the edge of the bed. “I don't think I'll be much fun today, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Chris says as he gently runs his fingers through Phichit’s hair. “Let's go back to sleep.” He moves to get onto the air mattress, give Phichit some space, but Phichit grabs his wrist and tugs him down so that he's on top of the blankets on top of him. 

“Stay here,” he whispers, his eyes already closed. Chris can only listen.

❀❀❀

The next time they wake up, it’s late afternoon, and the house is empty. Phichit dresses in a long, thin tank top and a pair of sleep shorts and drags Chris to the living room downstairs. They settle on the couch after grabbing some water bottles and crackers from the kitchen, and Phichit flicks on the TV even as they both start browsing on their phones. Chris isn't even sure what they're watching. It looks like some form of Big Brother or other related reality tv show. It's in rapid Thai, and Phichit's got English subtitles up along the bottom of the screen but it's all going so fast that Chris still isn't following. Someone says something, and then a man spits a mouthful of water across the table, and a bunch of people laugh. Beside Chris, Phichit laughs too.

"Do people actually do that, though?" Chris asks. 

"Do what?"

"Like. Spit out whatever's in their mouth if someone makes them laugh. I've never seen anyone do that in real life."

Phichit drops his phone on the floor at stares at Chris incredulously. He ignores the fact that Chris is friends with Victor Nikiforov, and he’s  _ seen  _ Victor do a spit take before. "Are you kidding? People totally do that, oh my god. Like, I made Yuuri spit out and knock over  _ so many _ drinks back in Detroit you wouldn't believe it!"

"Really?" Chris laughs, pulling Phichit across the couch by the hem of his tank top and settling him in against his side. "How?"

"I would wait until he took a sip of water or whatever and then I would tell him a dirty joke."

Chris reaches over and snags a water bottle from the coffee table. "Did he ever get you back?" he asks before taking a drink.

"No," Phichit responds quickly. "I'm good and always manage to swallow."

It only seems fitting that Chris chokes on the water in his mouth. He doesn't quite spew it everywhere, but some does dribble down his chin, and he makes a gagging noise in the back of his throat before swallowing and coughing. Phichit laughs sweetly and kisses Chris's cheek before scooping his phone up off the floor and snapping a quick selfie for Instagram.

"Hashtag this boy's still got game," he murmurs to himself cheekily. "I'm tagging you and Yuuri, okay? He'll commiserate with you!"

Chris just wipes his chin with the neck of his shirt and chuckles. "Whatever makes you happy, Darling." Phichit leans heavy against him and sighs. Neither of them is actually watching the show, but Chris wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

❀❀❀

Time passes, and Chris doesn’t know where it goes. The next time he checks the date, he finds he’s been in Bangkok for nearly three months. He watches Phichit circuit lazily around the rink, and he feels no desire to skate. He feels no desire to go home. Phichit looks across the ice at him and waves, and Chris smiles. It would be so easy to lose more time here. It would be easy to stay.

He’s pretty scared of that, though. He bites his lip and looks at his phone, and he doesn’t look up again until Phichit is ready to leave.

❀❀❀

At some point, the air mattress deflated, and instead of filling it up with more air, Phichit had rolled it up and folded it away. They keep the bedroom door closed almost obsessively because Phichit doesn’t want his family to know that they’re sharing a bed, but Chris knows that they know. Kasem isn’t stupid, and he and Chatchada exchange information and Chatchada is close with their mother. They have to know, but none of them has said anything, and Chris only catches Kasem watching him suspiciously sometimes, so. 

He figures they’re okay as long as they’re not flaunting anything. His favourite part of any given day is the end, when Phichit drags him down into bed and kisses him to sleep. He doesn’t want to lose that, so they keep the door closed, and Chatchada has stopped opening it without verbal confirmation. 

They never talk about this thing between them or their relationship status. Chris is afraid of the words, afraid that what’s happened before with other boys that he’s been friends with, that he’s  _ loved,  _ will happen again. Maybe if they don’t talk about it, they can pretend that it doesn’t feel like anything that could hurt them. Maybe if they don’t talk about it, they can pretend that it doesn’t feel like anything at all.

❀❀❀

Chris is pulled abruptly out of a deep sleep by the urgent shaking of his shoulder. "Chris? Chris!" 

"Hmm? Okay?" Chris mumbles, turning to Phichit and wrapping his smaller frame in blankets and Chris's arms. "What's the matter?"

"I know what you can do in your retirement," Phichit breathes, excited but still mostly asleep.

Chris lifts his head off the pillow just enough to squint at the clock on the wall across the room. It's dark, and his eyes are hazy, and he's tired enough that he can't keep his head lifted without sitting up for too long. He thinks maybe it's about three in the morning, but he can't be sure. "This is sudden."

"I had a dream," Phichit admits, burying his face into the blanket and then pressing his bundled head against Chris's sternum. His voice is muffled when he continues, "How do you feel about living in America?"

Chris can't even think of trying to follow Phichit's thought process. He says, "I've never really thought about it. Where in America?"

"Vegas! You can be a stripper in the Magic Mike Vegas show. Oh, please go audition, you're so much hotter than Chan Tater Tot or whatever."

There's silence between them for a moment while Chris digests this, and then he laughs and squeezes Phichit tightly. He laughs and laughs, and tries to stifle the sound by pressing his face against the top of Phichit's hair. When Phichit doesn't respond vocally and doesn't move at all, Chris peels the blanket back away from his face and is startled to find that Phichit has fallen back asleep. Phichit is soft and sweet all the time, but there's something about the way his face looks now...

Chris's heart aches, just looking at him. 

He tucks Phichit closer against his body and makes sure the blanket is tight around the both of them, and he plants a gentle kiss against the hair of Phichit's temple. 

❀❀❀

In the couple of months that Chris has been in Bangkok, he hasn't learned how to navigate around Phichit's mother. She speaks just about zero English, and Chris has only managed to pick up a handful of phrases in Thai; mostly just  _ hello, good morning, _ and  _ thank you. _ Usually, when she speaks Chatchada or Phichit will translate for him, but sometimes she'll look right at him and say something that no one will elaborate on, and it leaves him feeling adrift. 

When he wakes up, there's a text in his phone from Phichit saying  _ Didn't want to wake you bb! Went to the rink, but I'll be back for lunch! :* :* :* _ He knows that Kasem will have already left for work, and he has no idea what it is that Chatchada does or where she goes during the day, but he knows that she's most likely already gone.

He needs to get up and find food. He doesn't know what it's going to be like, interacting with Mrs Chulanont with no one to buffer them and a world of words they can't speak heavy between them. Chris likes a challenge though and knows that these moments are important, so he gets up. He slips a pair of sweatpants on over his briefs and pulls a tank top on, then makes his way to the kitchen.

Chris is generally adept at picking up languages, but Thai has been difficult. When he greets Mrs Chulanont, he knows that it doesn't sound natural, that the syllables don't leave his mouth right, but she nods at him anyway. She's sitting on the couch drinking coffee and reading a paper, and she's got a small plate of dumplings and fluffy white buns. She gets up and wanders across the floor into the kitchen, then makes a noise in the back of her throat and beckons him over. He follows her, and she makes him a plate of dumplings and buns from a steamer sitting on the stove.

She pours him a coffee, he murmurs a thank you, and then she melts back into the living room. Chris opts to eat standing up by the sink, and he washes his plate and cup as soon as he's finished with them. 

Mrs Chulanont is an enigma to him. He's noticed that mostly no one will do the dishes throughout the day and that in the evening when everyone is watching tv together, Mrs Chulanont will wash them all at once. She leaves them in a drying rack on the counter overnight, and then she rewashes them in the morning before drying them by hand and putting them away. When Chris had asked Phichit about it, he had only said, "She thinks they get dusty."

She hasn't rewashed yesterday's dishes yet, and Chris looks at them before glancing back towards the living room. He doesn't know how old she is. She has three adult children who live at home when they're in the country, and she had a husband at one point but Chris doesn't think anyone else lives here and none of the Chulanont children have ever spoken of their father in his presence. Chris thinks of his own mother, in her mid-fifties and lonely and tired, and purses his lips. Then he pops the rubber stopper into the drain and starts filling the sink with water. 

He can't speak with Mrs Chulanont, and he hopes he's not overstepping any boundaries, but. He doesn't know how else to show her that he appreciates being here. He's about half way through the washing when Mrs Chulanont comes back into the kitchen, and she just stands and stares at him for a long moment before coming to his side and drying the dishes with a towel. He gives her a small smile, and she doesn't even look at him for the duration of their silent interaction. When everything is washed, dried, and put away and Chris is wiping the counter down with a paper towel, Mrs Chulanont puts a small hand on his arm to get his attention.

When he looks at her, her eyes are solemn. She is the smallest woman that Chris has ever seen, but something about her makes Chris feel like he's looking up. Her voice is quiet when she says, "Phichit," and then she pauses. Her jaw tightens, and her frustration is palpable. She carries herself like a person who is used to being fiercely independent, like someone who isn't used to not knowing how to overcome a problem. Chris doesn't like thinking that maybe Mrs Chulanont thinks of him as a problem that she can't overcome.

"Phichit," she says again, her fingers digging into Chris's arm. "Is good boy." Her English is broken, and hesitant, but the sounds are determined on her tongue. She gives him a little shake, then moves her hand from his arm to his chest. She pats him over the heart firmly but gently. "You... be good."

Chris can't be certain of what it is that she's trying to communicate, but he feels a swell of emotion rise up between his ribs. He grasps her hand and keeps it pressed against his chest, and he ducks his head to maintain eye contact with her. He doesn't know what to say, or if she'd understand if he said anything at all, so he stands there, and he holds her hand, and he nods very seriously. "Phichit is very good," he finally manages, and he feels breathless. "I'm trying to be, too."

She pats his chest again and then moves around him and out to the back patio. She keeps a tiny garden plot around the back of the house by the garage, and she spends a lot of time out there watering and tending to the vegetables. Sometimes Chris will look out the kitchen window and see her reading out there, amongst the pak choi. She moves now to that space, and Chris stands by the sink for a long time, contemplating.

He's still there when Phichit comes cheerfully in through the front door, shouting a greeting into the house before dropping his bag and trotting up the stairs. He pokes his head into the bedroom before coming to stand at the threshold of the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" he asks Chris curiously, quirking an eyebrow at him and smiling.

Chris just looks out the window at Mrs Chulanont for a moment before turning to Phichit and dropping a kiss on Phichit's temple. "How was practice?"

Phichit looks at him for a second, searching, but then grins. "Good! There were toddlers there, and they were so sweet and small! C'mon, let's go watch a movie!" Then Phichit drags him down the stairs, and they end up watching The King and the Skater on the DVD in the basement living room.

❀❀❀

They home alone, watching YouTube videos on the downstairs TV, when Phichit climbs into his lap, drapes his arms over Chris's shoulders and wraps them up around the back of Chris's head, and they kiss. It's hot, heady, and Chris can't keep his hands off Phichit. They're up under his shirt, down the back of his shorts, clutching at the defined lines of his thighs, holding the back of his neck. Phichit pushes into his hands, grinds down against his pelvis, hums softly into his mouth. And Chris is drunk on this moment, flying high, in love with his life. 

"I love your mouth," Phichit murmurs, and Chris growls because even though they’ve been doing this for weeks he can’t get over how hot Phichit is, and Phichit laughs before slipping his tongue in between Chris's teeth. 

Phichit is always eager, always happy, always looking to hold hands or fold himself into Chris's arms or press a kiss under Chris's jaw or against the side of his neck as he passes around him in the house when nobody's looking. They still haven't spoken about what they are, what they're doing, but Chris doesn't want it to stop. Living in Phichit's home, traversing through the city during the day, prowling the clubs at night, curling up together just before the sun comes up; Chris can't think of a time in his life where he was happier. He wants this for the rest of his life. Everything is easy here in a way it's never been before, and Phichit and his family are so lovely and inviting and warm. And the sex.

Chris hasn't had this much fun having sex with anyone since Victor--

Oh. 

Chris jerks back and Phichit looks at him with rapidly dawning concern. "Are you okay?"

Chris can't breathe. He knows his lungs are clear; he knows that he's fine, everything is  _ fine, _ catching hanahaki a second time is utterly unheard of, but fuck. He can almost feel the fuzzy pressure of sunflower heads against his sternum and the raspy draw of his breath as air forces itself past flower petals to get to his lungs. He’s loved Phichit from their very first conversation, loved his bubbly nature and his thirst for fun, but. This is different. This is... He's in love. He's in love with Phichit, and the last time he was in love with someone it almost killed him, and he can't do it again, he  _ can't. _ He won't survive it. 

Phichit scrambles off of Chris and rushes into the kitchen, then hurries back with a damp towel and a bottle of water. "Here." He cracks the cap then shoves the bottle into Chris's shaking hands. He presses the back of his hand against Chris's forehead, then presses the cloth there. "Are you having an anxiety attack?"

"I," Chris chokes, "I don't know. I don't know." He wants to collapse back onto the sofa and pull Phichit on top of him and just lay there forever. He wants to leave the house right this second and go to the airport, catch the first flight home, and never speak to Phichit again. He doesn't want to be in love. He wants to live. Somehow, those things both feel simultaneously completely opposed and yet also like the exact same thing. He coughs, and he drinks, and he coughs. No petals come up. He slaps a hand hard against his chest, coughs again, and still no petals. He's fine. He's  _ fine. _

Phichit hovers around him nervously but doesn't speak and doesn't touch him. Chris knows that he's worried, wants to comfort him, and Chris wants to comfort Phichit right back because he's fine, everything's  _ fine, _ but he's too scared to reach for him. Maybe, though, he doesn't need to be the one doing the reaching. "Hold me. Hold me."

Phichit doesn't hesitate. He launches himself at Chris, wraps slender arms around broad shoulders and holds on tight. "I don't know what's wrong," he whispers, and his breath wavers. "But I promise, I'll do my best to fix it."

Chris wants to cry. Phichit is not anything at all like Victor. He doesn't want to think about Victor. They should maybe talk about Victor. And about them. And about everything else. "I want to go to bed."

Phichit studies him intensely for a moment and then gets up from the sofa. He collects the cloth and the water bottle, then twines his fingers with Chris's and gently guides him through the house and up the stairs, to the bedroom. He tucks Chris into bed, then pulls the curtains tightly shut. He hovers at the foot of the bed before moving toward the door, but Chris stops him from leaving. "Come here please."

When Phichit crawls in beside Chris, Chris just spoons up against his back and hides his face in the crook of Phichit's neck. "Did you do these kinds of things with Yuuri, in Detroit?"

Phichit stiffens in Chris's arms. "What does Yuuri have to do with anything?"

"Nothing. And I didn't ask to be judgemental. I just... I'm trying to find a place to start. Humour me?"

Phichit sighs, and he squeezes Chris's hands where they're pressed against his abdomen. "I never had sex with Yuuri. There was a lot of platonic cuddling, and a little platonic kissing at parties and stuff if we were both drunk but. It wasn't anything like this. I fooled around with a couple of the performing arts kids, but I never dated or anything. We were all just friends, you know? Never anything serious."

"Have you ever been in love before?"

"Chris why--"

And Chris doesn't want to say it, but Phichit was there with him. Phichit knows. So maybe saying it won't matter. "I thought I was going to die," Chris whispers. "I thought that being in love was going to take everything else away from me."

"But it didn't," Phichit whispers back, and he squeezes Chris's hands even harder.

"It didn't," Chris confirms, "But I'm still scared."

Phichit twists until he and Chris are face to face. "Do you still have feelings for...?"

"Victor," Chris admits quietly, even though he figures that Phichit has to know already. He's always hesitated in getting confirmation, but he has to have already known. "No, not anymore. Not like before. But I did for a long time."

"Do you...," Phichit takes a deep breath. This conversation is awkward for the both of them, and poor Phichit must feel like he's driving blind. "Do you blame Yuuri for how sick you got? Like, do you feel like he stole Victor from you?"

Chris hugs Phichit even tighter. "No. No, nothing like that. Victor was never going to love me. I came to terms with that years ago. Some people just aren't romantically compatible, and not everyone is going to love you just because you love them, and I understand that. But knowing wasn't enough to stop it. I got sick when they got married, I think because it was like tangible confirmation that I never stood a chance, but that has nothing to do with Yuuri. Doesn't even have much to do with Victor, I imagine. It was just me. Just how I loved him." Phichit nods, and Chris closes his eyes. "I don't want to ever feel like that again. I'm afraid of being in love. But I-- I am. Already, I am."

Phichit doesn't say anything for a long time, and then he asks quietly, trembling, "With me?"

It feels like a death sentence when Chris says, "Yes. Who else?"

And then Phichit's hands are on Chris's face. His eyes are wide and wet, and when he kisses Chris, it's so fragile. "You don't have to grow flowers for me," Phichit murmurs. His eyelashes are dark against his cheeks, and his brow is furrowed just slightly. "Don't you know how much I care about you? I... what's the word where something is precious to you, so you take good care of it?"

"Cherish?"

Phichit smiles softly. "Yeah. Cherish. I cherish you, Chris."

Chris can't breathe, but it doesn't feel like phantom flowers in his chest trying to choke the life out of him this time. This time it feels like laughing too hard on a hot day or kissing too long. He blinks rapidly, and Phichit's hands are soft on his skin.

"Can we be boyfriends now?" Phichit asks. He's biting his lip a little, and Chris can't help but laugh. Oh, to be twenty-one and sweet again. To look at a man like Chris and  _ cherish _ him. To have the hesitancy of someone who has never been loved but the bravery of someone who has never been burned.

Chris says, "I would like that," and they kiss, and Phichit sort of laughs against his mouth. Maybe this time his body won't try to grow a garden to distract him from a love that hurts more than it heals. Maybe this time he won't need distracting.

❀❀❀

Phichit has taken him everywhere worth seeing, and skated for him, and kissed him all over the city. They’ve been to all the rooftop bars, and all the floating markets, and they’ve taken pictures at all the best tourist locales. They’ve slept multiple days away. They’re running out of things to do in Bangkok. 

It’s almost three in the morning, and they’re in the back of a taxi, on their way home from a club. Phichit says, “What’s the plan?” and from the little half conversations they’ve been having over the past little while, Chris knows he’s not talking about the plan for the rest of the night, or even for tomorrow.

“I’ll have to go home at some point, I suppose, if only to remind Pansy that I exist.”

Phichit leans heavy against Chris’s side, and grabs Chris’s arm and wraps it around his shoulders. Then he links his fingers with Chris’s and brings Chris’s hand up to his mouth. He kisses the knuckles and then just holds Chris’s hand against his cheek. “And then what?”

He doesn’t know. He’s lived his whole life in the same city. His mother is there, and Simon, and Pansy. But Bangkok has been kind to him, and this is where Phichit’s dreams are rooted. This is where Phichit wants his future to be. His ice show. And maybe it’s jumping the gun a little-- a lot-- to be thinking like this so early on, but. If they’re going to sustain any sort of long term relationship, it’s probably best not to ask Phichit to uproot himself. Besides, it isn’t only Phichit he’s fallen in love with, and there’s still so much of Thailand that Chris hasn’t seen. “And then... I come back.”

Phichit jerks around and stares, his eyes wide with surprise. “What?”

“I could rent an apartment, maybe. Victor knows a thing or two about running ice shows; we could get the ball rolling. If you wanted. Or... is that too fast? I could--”

“No,” Phichit interrupts urgently. “No, I’d-- that sounds great. I’d love to have you here. But, I mean, are you sure? Moving across the world is a big... step.”

It is a big step, but. “I want to be where you are,” Chris murmurs, nuzzling his face into Phichit’s hair. “I want to see what happens if we have the chance to grow together. Besides,” he laughs a little, then sighs. “What else am I going to do with all my free time?”

Phichit grins, then kisses Chris hard. “I can think of a couple things,” he whispers against Chris’s lips. They don’t stop kissing until the taxi pulls up to the house, and then a little bit longer after that. And then when they get inside, they don’t stop kissing until sunrise.


End file.
